


Vanished Trail

by disillusionist9



Series: Choose Dare [47]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pre-War, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble #48 of 100 | Narcissa thinks on the calm before the storm she faces, after the first fall of Voldemort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanished Trail

Narcissa flexed her fingers inside of the elegant white leather gloves that matched her mink stole. The house elf charms to keep her hands warm were barely strong enough to stall the chill of the February air.

Typical of the Ministry, to forget to secure the warming charms over the tea garden, even with rune stones dotted in strategic patterns on the edges. If she were able to avoid destroying the delicate twist in her hair, she would put her muffs over her ears. She barely moved from her spot, as it was, from the feel of dozens of eyes on her.

Beside her, Lucius frowned, monitoring the actions of those around them with languid trails of his gaze. The black wool around his shoulders looked inviting, and she was certain he would provide it to her in an instant if she requested, but the gilded invitation was specific on the dress requirements. Given the precarious sympathies of the citizens and ministry officials at the reception, obvious through frequent hostile glances in her husband's direction, she daren't push any boundaries, no matter how trivial. Black and silver for the men in attendance, gold and white for the women.

An official welcome of spring hadn't been observed since she was a child, not much older than the young man with his father some paces away. Not quite old enough for Hogwarts, the boy held his father's hand, but she couldn't be sure who they were unless they turned her way.

Bright silver insignias of each attendee's crest, embroidered into the wool on their shoulders, glowed in the half-light of a late afternoon in winter. The moon was full above them, keeping a soft glow even in the waxing sunlight. Dark shadows filled the spaces between the trees in the distance, and there were raised voices just outside the ring of stones. The trails, and their footprints, clearly marked moments before by dim illumination, vanished.

Involuntary gasps of delight from the few children in attendance broke the silence as the first burst of faerie lights, large enough to rival a firework, arched over their clearing.

"Daddy," the mop of curly, dirty-blond hair bounced as the boy stood on his toes next to his father. "Daddy, they're like the ones they lit for grandmama."

"Yes, Cedric, they are," responded the boy's father.

Narcissa could easily determine the two's identity, as so few children were born the last decade compared to her own. The Diggorys, with one heir named Cedric. Amos's wife stood on the other side of the young man, each parent holding him in place with gentle hands, while every adult saluted the setting sun with their wand to welcome the first hints of spring.

And, to what Narcissa hoped, would be a brighter world for herself and her family.


End file.
